Chapter One

I sat in a gnarled, old oak tree, one leg hanging over either side of a thick branch. My back rested against the trunk of the tree and my book was propped up on the branch in front of me. It was a peaceful sort of place, despite the cold biting at my hands and face. I drew my cloak closer round me, its warming charm keeping out the worst of the cold. It was quiet but if you paid attention, you could hear the birds singing in the trees and Bowtruckles creeping along the branches overhead. Weak sunlight shone through the bare branches, producing a dappled effect on my book as I read. It was Peter Pan, the first novel I'd ever read. I'd stolen it from a muggle child's bedroom when I was nine. That was when I first discovered the magic of books, the amazing adventures and places they could transport you to.

I stared out across the orchard. It was not an orchard in the conventional muggle sense, bearing fruit; its purpose was entirely more fantastical. It was a wand orchard, the only such place in Britain, tended by my ancestors over several generations to provide superior wood for wands. My wand had originated from here, a hawthorn with a phoenix core. It suited me perfectly.

'Boo!' a voice shouted in my ear. I jumped, dropped my book to the ground and drew my wand. I spun round. My breathing slowed; it was just Bella, looking rather pleased with herself. She'd climbed the tree without me even noticing and was perched on a branch just above my head. I settled into a more comfortable position and greeted her.

'I thought you had a meeting this morning.' I said.

'I did. It's one o'clock, 'Dromeda. I just got back.' She told me. 'I've got something important to tell you, but you must swear not to tell anyone else.' Excitement filled her voice.

I swallowed. 'What is it?' This couldn't be good. There was only one thing she cared about these days.

'Swear you won't tell anyone. I shouldn't even be telling you.'

'I swear.' Those were words I would come to regret.

'I'm joining the Death Eaters. That's where I was this morning. I met with the Dark Lord himself. Those mudbloods are finally going to learn their place. My initiation ceremony's on Friday. I really can't tell you anything else, but it'll most likely be in the Prophet on Saturday.'

The bottom dropped out of my stomach. I sat there, gripping the branch and trying to take it in. She spoke so gleefully about it but I just felt sick. It would surely land her in Azkaban, or worse. That was to say nothing of the people that would suffer at her hand. Images from the Prophet flashed though my mind. The Dark Mark cast over houses. People dead with no sign of the cause. The quivering wrecks that survived. I forced a smile on my face and stammered out congratulations. She didn't seem to notice my discomfort.

'Of course, Mother will have a fit when she finds out. She's so determined for me to find a husband, settle down. Her ideas are so archaic. It'll be too late by then though. There'll be no turning back once I've taken the mark.' That was what I was so afraid about.

The conversation turned to more ordinary topics then, chiefly Mother's failed attempts to find husbands for us.

'Mother spent most of the New Year's ball trying to force me to dance with suitable men. She seems to think that, now that I've left school if she doesn't find me a good match within the year I'll have wasted my life. She has no ambition. I'm surprised she made Slytherin at all. It's alright for Cissy, though; she just spent the whole time dancing with Malfoy.'

'She's the same with me.' I told her. 'And I'm still at school. She only left me alone when Sirius put frogspawn in her champagne.' She laughed. I didn't. My mind was still fixed on the Death Eaters.

Darkness surrounded me. I was sat on the cold, hard stone of the secret passage between the Astronomy Tower and the Charms corridor. There was little light, just the lit tip of my wand illuminating the page in front of me, but I wasn't even pretending to read it. I'd escaped up here almost as soon as I'd arrived back at Hogwarts. I used to love the Slytherin common room, with its spooky green light and the underwater view outside the window. Not anymore. Now it just felt claustrophobic and I hated the thought of the lake pressing down above me. I felt even worse when I overheard Malfoy gloating over a muggleborn he'd attacked. Apparently, they 'spoke impertinently' to him. I left after that. Nobody noticed; they probably only tolerated me because of my lineage and sisters.

My thoughts turned back to Bellatrix. The way I saw it I had two options: just give up and accept that she was joining the Death Eaters, or write to her, begging her not to. I knew which one I would choose. I could tell myself all I liked that there was no point in writing a letter, that once she'd made her mind up she'd never change it, that she was stubborn like that. I knew that wasn't my reason, though; it was cowardice, pure and simple. She'd trusted me alone with this knowledge and I didn't dare oppose her on it, face her disappointment, or her anger. Bellatrix wasn't an enemy anyone wanted. Tears spilled down my face.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor and there was a pinprick of light in the distance, growing larger. Someone was coming. I wiped the tears from my face with my handkerchief and moved to stand up, my back straight and my chin up. They were closer now and the lantern they were carrying threw light across their face. It was Theodore Tonks, a muggleborn Hufflepuff in my year and the sort of person Cissy wouldn't go within 100 yards of. His shirt was untucked, his laces undone and he slouched as he walked up to me.

'Are you okay? He asked, concern written all over his face.

'Fine,' I snapped, blushing. You must never cry in public. It's a show of weakness. Bella taught me that.

'Are you sure?'

'Leave it, mudblood. I said I was fine.' I stalked off, the effect rather ruined when I tripped over the hem of my robe. It wasn't until I reached the Slytherin common room that I realised that I'd left my book.

A/N: if anybody's interested the descriptions on Pottermore for Hawthorn is

'The wandmaker Gregorovitch wrote that hawthorn 'makes a strange, contradictory wand, as full of paradoxes as the tree that gave it birth, whose leaves and blossoms heal, and yet whose cut branches smell of death.' While I disagree with many of Gregorovitch's conclusions, we concur about hawthorn wands, which are complex and intriguing in their natures, just like the owners who best suit them. Hawthorn wands may be particularly suited to healing magic, but they are also adept at curses, and I have generally observed that the hawthorn wand seems most at home with a conflicted nature, or with a witch or wizard passing through a period of turmoil. Hawthorn is not easy to master, however, and I would only ever consider placing a hawthorn wand in the hands of a witch or wizard of proven talent, or the consequences might be dangerous. Hawthorn wands have a notable peculiarity: their spells can, when badly handled, backfire.'

And for phoenix core:

This is the rarest core type. Phoenix feathers are capable of the greatest range of magic, though they may take longer than either unicorn or dragon cores to reveal this. They show the most initiative, sometimes acting of their own accord, a quality that many witches and wizards dislike.

Phoenix feather wands are always the pickiest when it comes to potential owners, for the creature from which they are taken is one of the most independent and detached in the world. These wands are the hardest to tame and to personalise, and their allegiance is usually hard won.